


The Boss

by eticatka



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humour, POV Barclay, too many tags could spoil this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eticatka/pseuds/eticatka
Summary: An unexpected guest visits the agency.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 30
Kudos: 59





	The Boss

**Author's Note:**

> A shout-out to Denmark Street Discord frens who inspired me for this fic. I'm not sure exactly who it was, but I believe Annachiara and RaeNonnyNonny were among them, so cheers to you!
> 
> This is going to be very silly. I warned you.

Sam Barclay heard the heels clattering loudly on the metal staircase. Not stilettos, he thought, but high enough to graze the stairs on each step. Three inches? Four? Whoever it was, they were hardly prepared to climb this hell of a staircase. They never were.

There was a buzz at the door, and Sam had to open it, being the only person in the office. A tall woman stood at the threshold, her black hair, pale skin and dark makeup giving her a somewhat infernal appearance. Sam cast a quick look down. _Four inches._

“Good morning,” he said with a subtle question in his voice. Depending on her reaction, it could range from “Do you have an appointment at our agency?” to “What the fuck are you doing here?”. The woman measured him from head to toe with her large eyes, as if evaluating him according to some kind of scale.

“Perhaps you’ve got an appointment, Miss –”

“ _Mrs._ Ross. I don’t need appointments, love.” She wrinkled her nose just for a fracture of a second, as Sam refused to move. People like her never took him seriously. All they could see was a funny simpleton with Scottish accent. “Is the boss in?”

Before Sam could react, she nudged him aside and walked into the office. Seeing that it was empty, she gracefully lowered herself on the farting sofa. The sofa, however, didn’t distinguish between people, so it readily emitted its usual flatulent noise. Sam gave it a mental high-five.

“I asked you, is the boss in?” the lady repeated, now evidently annoyed.

“Depends on who you’re looking for, Mrs. Ross. If you came to see a particular boss, please specify whom. If you’re okay with just any boss,” This was his favourite moment. “Well, I’m afraid, I am one.”

Three weeks ago, Sam managed alone to prove that a multimillionaire’s wife not only slept with his best friend, but also planned to kill him and make it look like a car accident. The betrayed husband was so happy to have escaped death that he doubled the sum he was going to pay the agency. Impressed, Strike and Robin offered Sam to be a junior partner at the agency, and that was an offer he wouldn’t refuse in a lifetime.

“How do you mean?” asked the woman.

It took him some time to recognise the intruder, but now he was sure: it was Strike’s famous ex-fiancée, who seemed to make a public scandal out of her every breath. She definitely came for Strike, refusing to imagine that he would be happy to share the business of his life with someone else.

“I mean, that, technically, there are three people who could be referred to as ‘boss’. There are Mr. Strike, Miss Ellacott, and yours truly.” Just as he was saying those words, a wave of pride soared in his chest.

“Oh. Is Mr. Strike in, then?” She was in no hurry to ask his own name. One more example of condescending attitude from this type of people.

“Now we’re talking!” Sam grinned triumphantly. “They’re having their _senior partners’_ meeting right now.”

“They?”

“He and Miss Ellacott.”

The very mention of Robin Ellacott being a senior partner at the agency and being _alone_ with Strike seemed to ignite a furious, destructive fire in her eyes. She looked like a cobra, ready to attack.

“I guess it’s still another hour till they finish,” Sam informed. “Would you like to wait? Or you could leave a message–”

“I’d like to come in.” The guest got up on her feet, moved to the inner office door and banged her fist on it.

“I didn’t say they’re there.” Sam smiled. Of course, there weren’t any senior partners’ meetings. He wasn’t going to disclose any private details, but it wasn’t a secret that, at this hour of the morning, the senior partners held their meetings in a more informal setting. This was why they rarely arrived earlier than ten o’clock, and when they did, there was always that look of silly happiness on their faces. Everybody pretended it wasn’t unashamedly post-coital, while Sam suspected he had been made a junior partner not only because of his outstanding detective skills, but also to keep someone in charge. It had its advantages (for one, he had his own desk now) and disadvantages (he had to share it with Pat, who was now, mercifully, away for stationery shopping).

Furious, Charlotte ( _that_ was her name!) turned on her enormous heels and made it to the door. The latter opened, and both senior partners entered the office. Robin was still a little flushed, Strike looked as if he got dressed in haste.

“May I introduce,” muttered Sam, his intonation putting a full stop at the end of the sentence.

“Charlotte.” Strike eyed the woman with a mix of disbelief, suspicion, and contempt. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you!” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t get through–”

“–that’s because I changed my number, as I promised you–”

“–and there was no other way to reach you other than come here.”

“If you need the agency’s services, you can make an appointment, and one of us will take up your case,” Strike said dryly, gesturing on himself, Robin and Sam.

“I don’t need your bloody services, Bluey,” she replied in a loud whisper, so that everybody in the room still could hear her. “I need _you_.”

Sam nearly snorted with laughter. He caught Robin’s eye and winked. She winked back.

“You’re fucking her.” Charlotte pointed her chin at Robin. It wasn’t a question. “But we both know you can’t love her like you loved me.”

“That’s because I didn’t.” Strike said on the go, walking past her to the inner office. Robin shrugged, smiling at Charlotte one of her most charming smiles, and followed him. Charlotte, shocked, froze for a second with her mouth open, and then stormed out of the office, her heels clattering like an automatic gun.

Sam couldn’t refuse himself one last treat.

“You gotta read the fucking room, lassie!” he shouted in the stairwell. She didn’t answer, and, in a few moments, he heard the building door open and close with a bang. “Poor Pat missed the whole show, didn’t she?”

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea was that Sam tells Charlotte to read the room, and the whole fic is just a long way to get to this sentence. Thanks for reading!


End file.
